Stranger
by Ballerina.Embers
Summary: The Dalish Elf suffers from a great deal of guilt, and slowly merges into a completely different person than she was in the beginning. Mentioned Alistair. Mainly Zevran. Rated T for implied sexual themes.


Capricorn

Zevran had managed to smooth talk his way into many things. He escaped certain death, and he managed to out wit those who were sharper than any blade. He was not only a skilled killer, but he was a survivor, first and foremost. Not only an assassin and son of a whore, but also an Antivan Crow.

Crows were frightening creatures. They symbolize death. When Pan thinks of Antivan Crows, she does not think of assassins. She instead things of reapers with giant black wings, with daggers for fingers.

Pan had no fear for the reaper or the bird of death. In fact, she prayed for it everyday with hopes that it the death bringer would end her life without pain. That's all she asked for. Anything more and she might be denied just the one thing she asked for; to be numb.

Since the death of her beloved friend Tamlen, she had slowly became just that. Numb. It started when Tamlen's service was started. She had a deep regret, for she knew it was her own fault for allowing her friend to gaze upon the blasted mirror, the cursed object that was fatal to touch, more than it was fatal to look into. She damned herself every day for the fate she brought upon herself and her friend. Not only that, but she deemed herself unworthy of redemption.

It started first in the mind. She built up mental barriers and blockades. Her heart was constricted, choked. Only thing she would allow is blood to pump through it. Her mind commanded it be so.

Then she disregarded respect for herself, and then refused to be touched in any affectionate manner what so ever. Instead of taking any pleasures from the world around her, she would only accept pain and abuse in any way, shape, or form.

Then there was the physical change. Not only had she managed to sustain a facial expression that was cold, but her skin was cold. Her eyes made her seem distant, and she would give little to no opinion on any matter. She was like a drone, the way she was so indecisive and callous. This was an exceptional form of punishment, for she knew no other way to be punished.

When they finally left the Wilds, and Alistair asked her about their plan, she never gave a real answer. She only asked what he thought was smart to do. The mentioning of Arl Eamon is the only reason she chose to go, because Alistair brought it up first. Thus explains why they have quite the group at camp, because neither rejected nor accepted help. They simply invited themselves in.

She ignored the squabbling between Morrigan and Alistair. She ignored the compliments thrown her way from Zev' and Lel'. Even the pestering of her dog shrugged off, and the string of questions Sten presented her with every time she passed him by went on ignored.

Her aura held a new brooding sensation and her body language changed entirely. Pan's entire self was changed over a week, and her companions witnessed this. They didn't know who she was anymore.

Traveling was hell, indeed it was. The Treaties gained them aid, but Pan was forced to help them before they could help her in the War. It was all so pathetic and irritating to her. Inside, her love for her heritage withered. No longer was she of Dalish kind. In time, she left that life behind. In time, she did not think of Tamlen in a friendly light. Instead, she believed life was a game of survival.

After killing Tamlen, or what was left of him, with her own hands she found a sad sick reluctance.

_Who was that?_

The question went on ignored. After that night, she shunned thought of sympathy and compassion. She refused to sleep for a while, believing that she would have dreams. Dreams that would bring the old Pan back… but she was Pan no longer.

The day finally came when Arl Eamon went to Denerim, and a landsmeet was in order.

A lot happened before the said landsmeet took place. Pan and Alistair saved a backstabbing Queen, they were made prisoners, and they escaped with careful thinking and sharp blades with cutthroat tactics. She even came across one of the Antivan Crow's. An interesting encounter it proved to be.

They were all shocked to hear her say she would accept the tasks they gave to her. Though she did not see why such surprise was written along their faces. She managed to murder those whose names were written on paper, and though she was not satisfied with the rewards given unto her, she was pleased with taking the life of those who she was being ordered to kill…

Zevran wasn't sure if he should be worried that someone seemed to take on tasks better than he ever good, what with the way she seemed to strike with no emotion, and gave no hesitation in her steps and precise jabs. Her grace as he watched her sink her blade into the back of a man, twisting the dagger as she clasped a hand over the human's mouth. Blood painted the floor and her armor. It was beautiful, but frightening, and yet strangely alluring.

Alistair was disturbed. He reminded her every chance he could that she was a Gray Warden, but nothing was ever said in reply. He once looked at her with such fondness and admiration. The knight even loved her, at a point, but now he feared her change, concerned with out cold she had became. He pleaded for her to talk to him, to look him in the eyes, to gain something out of her… Finally, one day she spoke to him.

He asked, "What will you do when the Blight is done and over with?"

With a dead stare, she replied, "I'll start again… with a brand new name… I will disappear."

There was no further talk after that, and Alistair seemed so torn. He had an inner conflict, and his heart ruled over his mind. It was unclear weather or not he wanted her to leave forever, or if he wanted her to stay with him… forever.

Finally came the fall of Loghain. Pan saw to it herself that he was put to death. She forced him down on his knees, to her height and took his life with a swift movement of the dagger. Then when asked who should be the Ruler of Denerim, she forced Alistair into it, despite his best wishes not to.

He truly felt a deep pain within his chest, but did not say anymore to her after their last conversation.

Pan's newfound standoff vibes she gave, on the other hand, did not discourage Zevran. He persisted on topics the others would not, and suggested dangerous things that would probably end the life of others. His charm seemed to never fail, though. He knew very well how to figure her out, despite her new identity she seemed to possess. It was before they left camp for the last time.

Inside of her tent is where she seemed to be laying to sleep for the first time in days. Zevran crept in while her back was turned to put her armor away into her bag, and when she looked back, she found the handsome devious assassin lingering on her bed roll. He knew he was on thin ice just being in her tent, but his luck usually saved him in the knick of time, so he held no worries.

"May be so bold to suggest something?"

She tilted her head, not in curiosity, but in irritation. He smiled and laughed to try and lightening the mood she brought upon the two of them. Zevran patted the space he made for her on the bedroll.

"A service I would like to give to you. Lately, you've been looking a little tense. Perhaps I can ease you with an Antivan massage, no?"

"What sort of trickery is this?" Her ice breath made him shiver, the edge of her words lethal, like venom. Just being in her gaze made him feel like he was taking some sort of risk. He liked taking risks… It will be the death of him some day.

"No tricks here. I only wish to give you relaxation. I know you've been having trouble sleeping, of course."

"What would you know of my sleeping habits, hm?"

"Please, I only wish to give you comfort in these nights. You never know what day will be your last, you know…" The man seemed to pout slightly, seeming to be sadden by her rejection. "Give me the pleasure of easing your aches and pains. You hardly use me for anything at all anyway…"

She cross her arms for a moment, a sour look on her face as she appeared to Zevran as a spoiled girl. He sighed out of relief when she finally came closer. She did not seem to change in spirit wise, but he thought maybe this "massage therapy session" would help bring something in her back to life.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Do what you wish…"

"Just thinking how lucky I am to be within your beautiful gaze, my dear… Savoring this moment…" He came to settle behind her, his hands first coming to her shoulders. "We must cherish what is given to us, no?"

The pale beauty groaned dully. "What's the point in this?" Zevran came to sigh, finding Pan to be more difficult than usual.

"To _please_ you, my dear. That is the point in this… Just allow me to drink in the moment, will you?"

His skillful hands, possibly filthy with the juices from other bodies, weather it is blood, sweat or juices. She did not seem bothered by it, however. She's aware of his sexual orientation and his views. She knows more about him than he tells her.

His warm hands squeezed and rubbed the cold skin, tending to the muscles of her shoulders… then pressing near her neck, and her spine. He was slow about it, but his ears twitched ever so slightly at her nearly silent noises. Weather they may be from pain or pleasure, he will soon find out, one way or another. Then his thumbs came to press the tender space of her shoulder blades. It seemed to be a weakness of hers, the space just below her shoulder blades, what little space was available.

She seethed, but not happily, not at all. He understood this, and eased up a little on that area. Mmm, so soft and smooth…

"You have so many knots my dear…" He spoke softly to the edge of her ear as his hands came to slip beneath her shirt, going up her spine. If she wasn't aware of what his intentions were, she would know now. Of course, Pan knew what she was getting into the moment she saw him.

Inching dangerously close, his hot breath breezed into her ear, and her eyelids dropped instantly. She allowed the elf to go further, his tongue flicking at the tip of her long ear. The ear of an elf were very sensitive, and if done right, you can kill an elf by damaging their ears. Something to do with their sensitive hearing. Oh yes, Zevran was an expert, though. He learned things over the years, and when this is done right, results will be instant.

The young elf girl reached back and squeezed his strong thighs, sighing as his thumbs pressed all the tenses muscles along her spine, eventually going as far up as he could, and then venturing lower, lower, lower… To her lower back, managing to make her sigh pleasantly.

His hot tongue lingered along the delicate flesh of the shell, kissing the space behind her ear. Her nails dragged along his thighs and she groaned softly. This was what confirmed it; Pan was up for a little play before bed, but she wasn't going to tolerate childish playfulness, if Zevran would be so bold as to test her patience now.

Their bodies united that night in pleasurable bliss, but when morning came, results were fruitless, despite Zevran's best efforts. They hardly talked about it afterwards…

"So, what happens now?" He asked her, and she looked at him strangely.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh… So we're just going to pretend nothing ever happened." He brought up, sounding very disappointed and annoyed.

"Ohh…" She said, as if it were nothing. Then she tilted her head and looked up as if in thought. "We go on as before."

"… That's it?" He was surprised she didn't… cling for him like most women would do.

"What? You expected me to cuddle with you? Or do you want more from me?" She examined her nails, seemingly heartless. "I'm no fool… I'm not going to throw myself at you with all my heart, only to be set up for rejection. I know you better than that, and I wouldn't dare set myself up for disappointment."

Zevran laughed sharply, but she went on to say more.

"Oh? Am I wrong? Any woman who has thrown themselves to your feet has been left behind. You leave a trail of corpses and broken hearts wherever you go, and you think there is no room in your life for a silly thing called 'love'. Now that I'm on your list, I anticipate you'll be leaving for the next woman." She curled up on her bedroll, ignoring the puzzled look on Zevran's face. "You're no crow, Zevran. You're just a lady killer, nothing more."

He stared at her in disbelief. It was horrible to be so easily analyzed. It was a strange feeling Zevran wasn't quite familiar with, at all. He knew he shouldn't care, but still, it was hard to just be described in such a way.

"I knew this was going to happen sooner or later." She took the words right out of his mouth. Just like that, he felt a little torn. He didn't like being in such a light, but it was true. It was so true, the way she painted a portrait of him without any trouble.

He remained motionless, looking down at her until she came to slumber. The assassin couldn't bring himself to look away. She pinned him out so easily, and he once thought that he was the most observant out of the entire camp.

He was sadly mistaken.

**End of part one.**

I honestly… Don't know what I was going for when I wrote this.


End file.
